


I, Brother

by mozbee



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, I don't know what else to tag, M/M, No Incest, ooh how about hurt/comfort, this is not the Theseus you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:20:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozbee/pseuds/mozbee
Summary: "Newt? I'm Percival," the tall man with rich brown eyes and amazingly coiffed hair held a hand out to Newt, who was frozen with his mouth half open.This was Percival Graves? This veritable hunk whom Newt had been subtly eyeing while he waited for the hostess to look up his reservation? He did not, Newt reflected, look like the sort of man who would resort to blind dates.Newt took his hand, but his mind was blank. He stared at their clasped hands, thought of how smooth they were as he looked at Percival's tanned skin. The hostess thankfully broke in."Right this way, sirs." Newt forced himself to let go of Percival's hand, and felt flustered at the other's bemused grin.Newt had the distinct feeling that there would be no second date.--Newt goes on a blind date, and maybe it turns out better than he could have thought.But there was still the matter of telling him about Theseus.Everyone else left when they found out about Theseus.





	I, Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello, this was supposed to maybe be a thousand words but then my mind kept going OOH WHAT ABOUT so it morphed like a mighty Power Ranger.  
> I added some more notes at the bottom that can be considered spoiler-y so go read that if you're anxious BUT I can tell you there is nothing triggering in this unless you can't handle mental health problems. Vague 2018

**First Date**

"Newt? I'm Percival," the tall man with rich brown eyes and amazingly coiffed hair held a hand out to Newt, who was frozen with his mouth half open.

 

_This_ was Percival Graves? This veritable hunk whom Newt had been subtly eyeing while he waited for the hostess to look up his reservation? He did not, Newt reflected, look like the sort of man who would resort to blind dates.

 

Newt took his hand, but his mind was blank. He stared at their clasped hands, thought _they’re so smooth_ as he looked at Percival's tanned skin. The hostess thankfully broke in.

 

"Right this way, sirs." Newt forced himself to let go of Percival's hand, and felt flustered at the other's bemused grin.

 

Newt had the distinct feeling that there would be no second date.

 

**Third Date**

"Well you were right about me not having done this in a long time," Newt said to Percival with a sigh. His bright yellow golf ball had bumped against the pirate's peg leg and was now sitting waiting for more futile strokes. Percival chuckled.

 

"No fear, mini golf is more luck than skill anyhow. Although," he considered Newt's predicament, "I may be able to help." They stood in front of the ball. It waited patiently. "All right, take your stance."

 

Newt did as Percival ordered, standing sidelong to the ball, his club held loose in his hands. Percival suddenly stepped up behind him.

 

"May I?"

 

Newt nodded without really knowing what he was agreeing to but when a man as attractive as Percival suggests anything, you agree. A thrill ran through newt as _just like in the movies_ , Percival stood behind him and reached around to place his hands over Newt's. He leaned in, his fresh aftershave flooding Newt's senses.

 

"Brace your hips," he said, his voice right in Newt's ear. "Drop your shoulder, yes just like that..."

 

Newt was fairly certain his heart was pounding hard enough that the vibrations would start shaking his club. Percival was pressed up against his back, a solid warm weight, and Newt was very seriously considering fainting just to see what it would feel like to be held tight in those arms.

 

"...and a deep breath and count of three, then swing," Percival told him, his hands warm where they covered Newt's. "One, two--"

 

Suddenly Percival darted out from behind Newt. He snatched the ball and rolled it down the incline Newt had missed. The ball bounced off the sides and came to a stop a foot from the hole. Percival grinned at Newt. "Looks like you'll make par."

 

Newt couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped him. He clapped his hand over his mouth when the family two holes ahead of them turned to look. Percival suddenly grabbed his hand.

 

"Run!"

 

"Wha--" Newt gasped as he was tugged after Percival, the golf club dropping from his hands as they dashed off the eleventh hole, jumping over fake rocks and past the windmill obstacle. Percival led them to the thirteenth hole, a haunted house façade blocking easy access to the hole.

 

Newt's heart was pounding from the mad dash, and he leaned against the hanging shutter of the house. "Percival, what was--"

 

"Shh," he put a finger to Newt's lips, and looked back over his shoulder. He nodded once. "Okay, we're good." He grinned at Newt and dropped his hand.

 

"Percival, why did we just run as if hell hounds were on our heels?" Newt pressed a hand to his chest for emphasis. Percival shrugged.

 

"It got us some privacy, didn't it?"

 

Newt flushed, the weight of Percival's finger lingering on his lips. "Why, uh, why do we need privacy?" He was suddenly very aware of how close they stood, toe to toe, hidden behind the front wall of the haunted house at the thirteenth hole. All Newt would have to do was lean forward and he would be a bare inch from Percival's face.

 

Percival fixed his gaze on Newt, his dark eyes endless pools of, dare Newt say it, _want_. "Newt, I have a confession to make," he said, voice low. "I may have brought you here for a nefarious purpose."

 

"Oh?" Newt squeaked. His mind bade him a fond farewell and shut down. _Traitor_ , Newt thought savagely. "What... I mean, what do you--"

 

"I have been dying to kiss you since the third hole." Percival shrugged one shoulder. "Well, since our first date, really. But it became unbearable when I saw the sun light up your hair when you squinted to line up your shot past the rolling log. I thought to myself, my god he is beautiful. And I just couldn't wait anymore."

 

Newt knew he was gaping like a fish but he had nothing. Percival was watching him carefully.

 

"Newt? Can I--"

 

"Yes!" Newt blurted. He winced. He needed backup but his brain still hadn't come back. All right, instincts it was. Percival shifted a hand to cup Newt's neck and moved closer. All Newt would have to do was lean forward--

 

So he did.

**Sixth Date**

“Do you have any siblings?”

 

Newt considered Percival, sitting across from him at the same restaurant they’d had their first date at. They’d made it to their sixth date (not that Newt was keeping very careful track of how many dates and where and what Percival had been wearing or which cologne he had chosen) and Newt knew the question would come up eventually. _Just answer the questions he asks, don’t go volunteering more information,_ Newt told himself. “Yes, I have an older brother.”

 

“Oh?” Percival forked a cherry tomato and rolled it in the salad dressing. “Does he live here, too?”

 

Newt felt the familiar twang of heartache. “Yes,” he replied, thinking briefly of Theseus’ room. Percival looked amused as he sipped his wine.

 

“And…?” He frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, maybe I’m being too forward. I should have asked if you talk to him still. I know a lot of people who are estranged from their family.”

 

Newt shook his head. “No, we…I talk to him.” He spun his water glass, shaking his head when their waiter approached to offer more.

 

“I get the feeling you don’t want to talk about him,” Percival said, watching Newt. “You don’t have to, I just wanted a better idea of your family life.”

 

Newt sighed. “It’s, it’s just a loaded question. One that I feel I have to tread carefully around.” He looked down at his plate, the stir fry suddenly unappealing. “I will tell you this much: my relationship with him has ended the majority of my others.” He glanced at Percival to see his reaction. Percival was frowning more. Newt felt a dip of uncertainty in his gut.

 

“Why—” Percival cut himself off, then tried again. “How does your relationship with your brother end your relationships?”

 

_Here it comes: the end_ , Newt thought mournfully. “He—” Percival suddenly raised a hand.

 

“Wait,” he said, and Newt obediently clamped his mouth shut. “I don’t need to know. Unless _you_ think I do.”

 

Newt blinked quickly. “O-oh,” he replied, flabbergasted. Everyone else had wanted to know everything right away, and usually regretted it. Maybe not instantly, but within a week or two of learning about Theseus, they suddenly had more shifts at work or their dog or goldfish was sick with an alarming regularity. Newt had learned to stop calling the first time they didn’t return his call.

 

“Is that all right?” asked Percival. Newt nodded jerkily. “Okay,” Percival said, and smiled at Newt when he looked up. “Newt, if you aren’t going to eat the baby corn, can I?” He held up a spoonful of croutons. “I’ll trade you.”

 

Newt laughed at the earnest expression on his face, his worry about explaining Theseus fading. “Keep your stale bread, you can have them for free.”

 

Percival accepted the bounty of baby corn with a gracious nod and proceeded to eat them like they were a full ear of corn, nibbling at the tiny rows with a great look of concentration. Newt snorted as he chased an errant pepper around the rice with his fork. He resolutely ignored the giddy feeling in his chest, reminding himself that six dates over eight weeks was far too soon to fall in love with someone.

 

 

**Ninth Date**

“Is everything all right?” Percival asked, running his fingers through Newt’s hair. They were settled on the couch in Newt’s living room, the TV on to play music from the satellite, the house still smelling of the meal Newt had cooked them. “You’ve been distracted all night.”

 

Newt sighed, his right side warm from being pressed against Percival. “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his head back against the couch. “I’m a little worn out.”

 

_”I’m sorry, Newt, today isn’t a good day. We had to change the sheets on his bed and he’s been inconsolable since.”_

 

_“Can I just see him--?”_

 

_“We had to sedate him_ ,” Patricia had looked sad as she said it, she’d told Newt once how much she hated having to drug the patients. “ _He was trying to hit his head on the wall, and he hit Sean when he tried to intervene. He’s not coherent; it might upset him.”_

 

_Newt had been set to argue or plead, whatever might work on Patricia, when an angry yell had sounded from the door behind her desk._

 

_“I! I! I!”_ Newt winced to hear Theseus so distraught.

 

_“Please Patricia,”_ Newt said, leaning forward on the desk. _“I just, I need to see him.”_

 

Patricia heaved a sigh, her brow wrinkled, eyes full of sympathy. She nodded to the benches across the hall from her desk. _“Have a seat there. Maybe,_ maybe, _you can see him in an hour or so. I can’t make any promises, all right?”_

 

Newt nodded vigorously, a flush of relief rushing through him. _“Thank you, so much, I know no promises, but I can wait, no matter how long it takes.”_ He hurried over to the first bench and sat on the edge, eyes fixating on the large analog clock mounted behind the desk.

 

It had been more than two hours by the time Newt was given his visitor’s pass (a cloth patch that Velcroed to his shirt) and allowed through the door behind the desk. Theseus had been sitting on the end of his bed, turning over a soft block, watching without seeing when Newt came in. Sean, one of the nurses, had stayed by the door the whole time, watching their interaction from beneath a red welt that scraped across his eyebrow.

 

“ _Your brother is a good man,”_ Sean had said to Newt as he walked him out when after an hour Theseus still wouldn’t acknowledge Newt. “ _I don’t blame him for this,”_ he added, motioning to the cut above his eye.

 

“What did you do today besides slave away over a hot stove?” Percival had shifted so he was turned more towards Newt. His hand rested on Newt’s thigh, absently trailing designs through the rough jeans.

 

Newt hesitated for just a moment before saying, “I went to see Theseus.” Percival’s hand paused, then resumed.

 

“Was it a…nice time?”

 

Newt still had yet to tell Percival everything about Theseus; he knew that Newt’s brother lived in a group home but not much else. Newt had to build to the ‘paranoid schizophrenic’ part over another few dates. He’d jumped the gun before and been burned for it.

 

“He wasn’t…feeling well,” Newt said lamely. He fought off his mouth trying to tug down into a frown when he remembered the cold look Theseus had given him when he first came in with Sean. He had hunched up near the top of the bed, to the sewn-in pillow, and kept his back to Newt no matter how Newt pleaded and cajoled. Theseus made progress for a while, then regressed. It was a cruel pattern that had played out countless times over the years. And it always ended with him, still in his facilities, still being watched every moment of the day and night, still not allowed shoelaces or utensils that wouldn’t break under more pressure than what it took to pierce a grape. And Newt would go home, to the townhouse or apartment he was renting in whatever town they were in, what mental health hospital had caught Newt’s eye for their treatment of those like Theseus, until something inevitably spurred them forth to a new town.

 

Theseus, always watched but never alone. Newt, alone with the guilt of condemning his only brother to the nuthouse because he couldn’t take care of him. He had tried, for a while after their parents died, but Theseus had gotten out of control with the passing of Arthur and Lillian Scamander. And when seven-year old Martin Cutter had gone missing, all the fingers pointed at Theseus.

 

Newt swallowed past the lump in his throat at the memory. “More to drink?” he asked as he fairly flew off the couch, eyes stinging in warning. He didn’t stay to catch what Percival said, just hurried into the kitchen, the door swinging shut silently behind him, and he leaned on the island and fiercely knuckled his eyes. Newt breathed deep, in through his nose, out through his mouth, until the quivering had stopped, until he felt he could speak without choking up.

 

He startled at the sudden voice behind him, at the tentative hand on his shoulder. “Newt?” Percival asked quietly. He gently tugged to turn Newt around. “What’s the matter?”

 

Newt waved him off. “It’s nothing,” he promised, but failed to reassure even himself. His voice sounded meek, a sad cry in the night. “I j-just—” he cut off.

 

Percival stepped in and wrapped his arms tight around Newt. “It’s all right, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said. He kissed the side of Newt’s head. “I’m always ready to listen though, if you ever do want to.”

 

Newt shut his eyes and leaned his head on Percival’s shoulder. He kept his arms low around Percival, and breathed deeply, the scent of fresh spring wafting off of him, his button-down shirt soft under Newt’s hands.

 

_Is it still too soon to love him?_

 

**Thirteenth Date**

“I love you,” Newt burst out, then promptly gasped in horror. Percival froze from where he kneeled in front of the bench Newt sat on, tending to Newt’s cut leg. He tipped his head back to look at Newt.

 

“What did you say?”

 

Newt was flustered and he stammered to explain. “It’s just, the way you were h-helping me and how you said I should have a better understanding of gravity because Sir Isaac _Newton_ , and then you’re—”

 

Percival had a bright grin on his face, eyes sparkling. “So all it took was some Florence Nightingale to get you to confess.” He looked down at the gash on Newt’s leg. “I should have pushed you off a bike ages ago.” He laughed at Newt’s burying his face in his hands and reached up and tugged them down. He held Newt’s hands in his own. “Do you really love me, Newt?”

 

Newt swallowed hard but forced himself to look Percival in the eye. “I really do,” he said, trying to convey his sincerity with his eyes, baring his soul. Percival smiled back.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

“Oh my gawd, he just proposed!” Someone cried from further down the path. Newt and Percival looked up, startled, to where a group of women in yoga pants and carrying gigantic frozen coffees were huddled together, not even pretending to mind their own business.

 

“Did you say yes?” One of them called to Newt.

 

“Er,” Newt looked at Percival, who had gotten over the shock of an audience quickly and was winking at Newt.

 

“A proposal deserves a kiss, doesn’t it?”

 

“Depends if I said yes or not,” Newt replied, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward, pushing his fallen bike out of the way when it dug into his calf. “It was a resounding yes, by the way.”

 

Percival sat forward on his knees, and Newt dipped down to meet him, and abruptly pulled up short, both of them grunting when their bike helmets knocked together.

 

“So cute!” yelled the same woman from before. Newt grimaced and rubbed at his forehead.

 

“Can we never come back to this park, ever?” he asked Percival, who grinned as he unbuckled his own helmet and then Newt’s.

 

“Only if I can leave a piece of my heart here,” he answered, then moved forward, and this time they successfully locked lips, to the cheering of the women down the path.

 

“I love you, Percival,” Newt said when they broke apart. Percival beamed back at him.

 

“I loved you first.”

 

**Sixteenth Date**

“Newt,” Percival said with a laugh in his voice, “will you calm down? Marian is going to love you, you don’t need to be nervous.”

 

Newt smoothed his hair down for the umpteenth time since leaving the car, nervous jitters running through him as they walked up the path to the front door of Marian Abbott, Percival’s older sister. “No one just _loves me_ , Percival,” he hissed back. “I need at least four separate encounters just to get someone to _like_ me.”

 

“Funny, with me it only took half of one,” Percival mused. He squeezed Newt’s hand as they stopped on the wide front porch. “Relax,” he soothed, pulling Newt’s hands away from where they fussed with his collar, his bowtie. He kissed Newt’s cheek while simultaneously ringing the doorbell.

 

“Is that…Moonlight Sonata?” Newt asked in wonder, listening to the gentle three notes playing their way through the house, announcing their arrival. Percival looked surprised.

 

“Is it? I’m not sure, I don’t have much know-how of classical music. Hey Marian, is your doorbell playing Moonlight Sonata?”

 

“It is _reciting_ it,” the woman at the suddenly open door replied. “A doorbell does not _play_ anything, only humans do. You must be Newt?” She held her hand out. Newt took it dumbly, staring at her. Marian quirked a brow at her brother. “Is he always this quiet?”

 

“You’re…Marian Abbott?” Newt asked faintly. The siblings exchanged a glance. “As in, _the_ Marian Abbott of the Town Orchestra?”

 

Marian nodded. “The one and only,” she promised. She flapped her hands. “Come inside, instead of standing there like some sad, old trick-or-treaters.”

 

Newt tried to keep a handle on his giddiness as he followed Percival into the house. “This isn’t what I imagined when you said your sister was in a band,” Newt thumped Percival as they settled in on a couch while Marian fetched drinks. Percival shrugged, unapologetic.

 

“An orchestra is the same thing, basically.” He jumped when his name was snapped.

 

“Percival!” Marian glared at him as she circled the couch to set out a tray of pale red drinks in frosted glasses. “Do you honestly still tell people I’m in a _band_?”

 

“What? It makes me look cool.” Marian shook her head at him and turned to Newt, tucking her legs up under her as she got comfy on a deep wingback.

 

“Percival told me that you breed tigers.” Newt choked on his drink. Percival slapped his back and passed him a napkin. Marian grinned. “I didn’t believe him.”

 

Newt coughed, shooting an innocent looking Percival a dirty look. “I’m afraid it’s tremendously boring, what I actually do.”

 

“No, it isn’t,” Percival said immediately. He nudged Newt. “Go on, tell her.”

 

“I…I catalogue the pedigree of show dogs,” Newt muttered, fiddling with the cold edge of his drink. “I’ve always liked animals, and it may not be exactly what I planned to be doing with them, but it is very interesting,” he added, quickly defending his work. Most people made fun of him for it. When he chanced a glance at Marian, he squirmed under her intense gaze. _Oh lord, she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her brother._

 

“Is it true that Flynn isn’t a purebred?”

 

Newt’s mouth dropped in shock. Percival looked between the two of them. “Who is Flynn?”

 

Marian ignored her brother. “It was trending on HotPaws but the owners aren’t saying anything about it. I don’t know _why_ ; it isn’t as if he would suddenly not be eligible for any more shows.”

 

“No, you’re right,” Newt agreed. “Purebred status doesn’t matter the way it used to, and it’s sad to think they’re ashamed of him now. He hasn’t been seen out for weeks, not since his win last month. I imagine he’s being kept inside on the grounds until this has blown over.” Newt sighed. “I must admit, I feel responsible for it.”

 

Marian looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Are you…are you the one who discovered his breeding?”

 

Newt rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to?” he offered. “I did get quite the letter from his owners though. Apparently, I ‘shamed the Westminster name’.”

 

Marian shook her head. “Ridiculous,” she muttered. Percival looked impatient.

 

“Who is Flynn and how do you both know him?”

 

Without skipping a beat Marian answered. “Flynn was the dance master of the spring cotillion Newt and I met at a few years ago. He organized that delightful waltz, do you remember, Newt?”

 

Newt bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning and giving them away. “Oh yes, charming fellow.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “I distinctly remember telling you to give your brother my number. I suppose you never did?”

 

Marian sighed. Percival looked thunderstruck. “It wasn’t a good time,” she confessed. “I was so busy touring with my band, and I knew you were leaving for Las Vegas to work with the tigers at the Mirage…”

 

Percival glared. “What.”

 

Newt and Marian burst out laughing. “I like you, Newt,” she declared as she stood. “Come into the dining room, you two; dinner is ready.” She walked off, and Newt stood but was pulled back onto the couch immediately.

 

“If I had had the chance to know you years before now, and she hadn’t helped me with that, I would have poured syrup through her beloved grand,” Percival told Newt, giving him a tight squeeze around the waist. Newt turned eagerly to face him.

 

“She has a piano in the house?”

 

Percival shoved him off the couch.

 

**Eighteenth Date**

Newt was pressed to the couch as Percival trailed warm kisses from his ear to his collarbone, exposed from when Percival had pushed open Newt’s shirt for better access. Newt felt as though his heart was going to give out, it was pounding so fast.

 

“Percival,” he managed to gasp out, holding tightly to the broad back, shivers running down his spine as Percival nosed at his ear. He pushed up, and Percival immediately pulled away. He looked down at Newt, a lock of hair curling over his forehead, eyes burning.

 

“What is it? Are you all right?”

 

Newt tugged at Percival’s shirt. “Take this off. Please,” he added. Percival sat back, his weight gathered comfortably at Newt’s hips, and pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion. Newt unconsciously licked his lips at the sight of the tanned chest, well defined pecs the perfect shape for Newt to lay a hand on each. A soft breath escaped Percival’s lips as he closed his eyes at the feel of Newt’s hands running over his chest.

 

Percival’s house was quiet except for their breathing. Still sat back with his eyes closed, Percival reached out and began to undo the rest of the buttons on Newt’s shirt. Newt faltered when his shirt was fully open and his torso bared to Percival, who had opened his eyes and was tracing his eyes over every inch of exposed flesh.

 

“Could do with a bit of colour,” Newt tried with a self-deprecating grin. He’d pulled his hands back to himself, leaving them awkwardly crossed over his chest. He knew what Percival was seeing: knobby ribs and collarbones under paper white skin, a chest as hairless as a twelve-year old’s, topped off with skinny hips that looked like a shark’s fin cutting through the water. He’d been shirtless in front of Percival, but never in such a well-lit room, or when Percival was hovering above him and getting such a clear look. His heart sank when Percival frowned. _Here it comes,_ Newt thought miserably to himself.

 

Percival leaned forward and took Newt’s hands in his own. He kept a firm grip on them as he pulled them down to Newt’s sides. Newt flushed as Percival looked him straight in the eye. He let go of one of Newt’s hands and laid his own on Newt’s forehead. “This is what I love you for,” he said, his voice deep in the quiet of the house. His pressed his hand over Newt’s fluttering heart and he pushed down slightly. “This is what caught me.” He traced featherlight fingers from Newt’s head down his face, neck, across his ribs, his hips, and back up to his chest and neck. He stopped with his hand resting on the side of Newt’s neck. “This,” he said, giving Newt’s body a meaningful look, “the _whole_ package, is what keeps me.” He let go of Newt’s other hand and stretched out so he was laying on top of Newt, their faces inches from each other.

 

“I want you to see and love yourself the way I do, Newt,” Percival said softly, fingers reaching to run softly through Newt’s hair. “I don’t want to see you muscled, I want to see you happy.” He pressed a kiss to Newt’s lips. “I don’t want to see you golden brown, I want to see you excited about what our days together will be like.” He laid his head on Newt’s chest, ear pressed to Newt’s thumping heart. “I don’t want to see you ‘perfect’ or whatever you seem to think you need to be.” Percival raised his head to look Newt in the eye. “I just want to see you.”

 

Newt stared, dumbfounded, swept away on a tide of relief and fear and joy and something altogether indefinable. His chest felt tight. Percival just smiled at him and laid his head back down. His breathing evened out, and Newt was fairly certain he had fallen asleep on top of him.

 

Newt laid in silence, staring at the wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling.

**Twenty First Date**

“A boy went missing. Martin Cutter,” Newt recited dully. “Apparently he had been sitting beside Theseus on the bench at the bus stop. Theseus always sat at the bus stop. He didn’t get on the bus; he just liked to sit and watch. Martin was with him, and then suddenly he was gone. Just…disappeared.” Newt looked down at the sleeves of his sweater. “They…the town we lived in, they didn’t understand Theseus. They thought _different_ meant _bad_. But we had to move; after our parents died, Theseus couldn’t be in the house anymore. So I sold it and we moved.” Newt remembered the hatred in the townspeople’s eyes, the shouts that followed Newt around the market and the people that would follow him home, standing on the sidewalk and trying to look inside their house, until Newt and Theseus had had to live with the curtains permanently drawn.

 

“They thought Theseus did something to him?” Percival asked quietly. Newt nodded jerkily.

 

“Eventually he was cleared, but it was the worst six months of my life. They never did find Martin. Never arrested anyone.” Newt laughed in a way that wasn’t funny. “They even started talking about our parents, they’d found their obituaries and said Theseus must have—” Newt broke off, voice tight with remembered pain and fury.

 

Percival was quiet, watching Newt from where he sat perched on the edge of the chair. Newt had stood and looked unseeing out the window during his recitation. Newt was still on edge from his visit with Theseus some hours ago.

 

_“He’s been having a hard time with you leaving,_ ” Patricia had told Newt, face heavy with sympathy. Newt had felt sick, watching Theseus in the common room from the doorway examine himself in a mirror mounted on the wall and behind thick plastic.

 

Newt had been afraid to ask. _“Does—_ ” he cleared his throat— _“does this mean I can’t come see him?”_

 

Patricia spoke carefully, gently. _“Maybe just for a few days. It’s hard to tell, but we can watch how his behaviour changes if you aren’t around for, say, the weekend. New medication wreaks havoc with everyone; he’s only been on this new antipsychotic for two weeks now, and it can take as long as eight weeks for his body’s chemistry to adapt.”_

 

“I fought for so long to keep him out of hospitals and, and assisted living facilities,” Newt said, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of his front window, his lawn bathed in twilight. “I promised my parents I would look after him, and instead I let that town scare me into locking him away.” His voice broke. “A-and now, he won’t even _see me_ , because I upset him too much—” Newt’s heart clenched painfully as his vision blurred. “I let him down,” Newt sobbed, realizing his worst fear.

 

There was warmth around him then, enveloping him in it, his body wrapped up in a vise-like embrace, his head guided down to a broad shoulder that was soon soaked with tears as Newt cried unabashedly, thinking of what his parents would think of how he abandoned Theseus, in those cold, grey government run facilities, where all they did was shove pills down his throat and keep him contained twenty four hours a day, where he didn’t even get the chance to be human, he was just a patient—

 

Newt vaguely registered a soothing rumble, a hand on the back of his head, and a change in equilibrium as he was pulled onto the couch, surrounded by Percival and everything he meant to Newt.

 

It was some time later that Newt was pulling himself up, face hot, head pounding, and the twilight on his front lawn matured to pitch night, and he realized he had fallen asleep at some point. He groaned, hanging his head between his legs, his gut roiling with guilt and nausea. He felt a leg under him shift, and Percival was sitting up, scrubbing at his face and leaning into Newt.

 

“Can I hold you?” Percival asked, voice rough with sleep. Newt exhaled shakily but managed a nod, and was pulled flush against Percival, an arm secure around his shoulders. Percival pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Oh, Newt.”

 

Newt’s lower lip trembled and he pulled at his fingers. He felt so unsteady, off-kilter, as though he had been set loose in a thrashing sea. Percival was his anchor, but Newt was afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

 

“This is the part where everyone leaves,” he told Percival thickly. “They find out, they Google everything, and suddenly…”

 

“It isn’t your fault that your brother is the way he is.”

 

Newt raised his head, dimly surprised at Percival’s words. “What?”

 

“You didn’t give Theseus—” Percival said his name carefully, almost reverently—“the schizophrenia. Just like you can’t control other people’s reactions to him. And no matter where you go, there is always discrimination.” Percival shrugged. “It’s easy. As for your parents, well, I can’t say too much. But, when they asked you to look after your brother, do you think they meant for you to take care of yourself, too?”

 

Newt frowned, turning the words over in his mind. “I don’t need taking care of.”

 

“Yes, you do,” Percival told him quietly. “You may not live the same situation as Theseus, but you need to look after your own mental and physical health. Or let someone else do that for you,” he added, squeezing Newt’s shoulder. “I think your parents would want you to be happy, Newt; it’s what every parent wants for their child.”

 

“But what about when I sacrificed Theseus’ happiness for my own?” Newt asked miserably. “They didn’t ask me to just, just throw him away like yesterday’s jam. They would be so disappointed in me.”

 

“Do you think, right now, you could be taking care of Theseus as well as he deserves? Could you be here with him whenever he needs you?” Percival asked. “Would it be fair to him, if you became overwhelmed with his care, and you suffered because of that?”

 

Something ugly twisted in Newt. “Me? Suffer?” He demanded, staring at Percival. He slid out from under his arm, and paced away from the couch, running his hands through his hair. He turned back to Percival. “He suffers _every day_ because of me. He’s stuck in that cold, empty building _because of me_. He lives like a man imprisoned because I abandoned him when he needed me!” Newt’s voice had risen hysterically. Percival looked wary.

 

“Newt, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like he’s a burden.” Percival stood as well. “I was just trying to say, you’re allowed to think of yourself.”

 

Newt snatched the glass dish off the coffee table, full of caramels, and hurled it across the room. It exploded in a shower of glass against the fireplace. “All I do is think of myself!” He screamed. Abruptly his strength left him, and he sank to his knees on the floor. “Just get out,” he said when he saw Percival begin to move towards him. He stopped but didn’t move to leave. “Percival, I want you to leave. Now.”

 

Percival inhaled deeply. “All right,” was all he said, and he crossed the room and tugged open the front door, shutting it quietly behind him. Newt’s heart, which had been laying in shattered chunks, blew into crystalline dust and was quiet.

 

“Fuck,” he said to the silent house. His hands were trembling and he rubbed them on his thighs, chest aching. Why had he done that? Why had he said that to Percival, chased away the one man who might have understood about Theseus, who had given every hint that he had nothing against Theseus, not like the ones before him, who had looked scared and disgusted, who had said _how do you know he didn’t kill that boy, it’s not like you can take his word for it_ and all of them had broken Newt’s heart a little more, until he decided to keep it to himself.

 

Newt had been lost at sea, a rubber dinghy crashing down swells, every now and then glimpsing the lights of a ship in the distance, but he would have to pass through uncharted territory to get to them, tossing waves of brotherly guilt and love separating them permanently. He realized now, what he needed all along wasn’t a ship.

 

Newt needed a lighthouse.

 

Someone to show him the way through the dark waters, to stand stalwart and firm against anything the ocean, the waves of brotherly guilt and love, had to throw at them. Able to withstand saltwater and bird shit and still shine on, through pungent fog and seedy night, still they stand tall.

 

That was Percival, Newt knew. He had known since their second date, more than four months ago, that he was already what Newt had dreamed about. And now he had thrown that away. _Once again_ , he thought bitterly to himself _, it’s Theseus that came between me and someone else. But this time it was my doing._

 

“What did you do?” Newt asked himself furiously. He felt Percival’s absence deeply, a gaping hole inside, longing to be filled with warm brown eyes and ridiculously soft hair and a voice so low pitched and just the right words breathed in his ear and the pure affection and love brimming off him and towards Newt, always for Newt. “Percival!” Newt leaped to his feet, heart pounding as he dashed to his front door, hoping against hope that he could catch up to him. He threw the door open.

 

Percival was sitting on the top step of the porch. He stood and turned when the door opened and said nothing.

 

Newt’s mind stuttered to a halt. “You…you didn’t leave.” Percival shook his head.

 

“Do you want me to?”

 

“ _Never_ ,” Newt swore, short gasps tipping him over the edge, and his eyes were watering furiously as he stumbled blindly towards Percival, who had come up the last step and readily took Newt in his arms, rubbing his back and gently shushing him as he cried.

 

“I’m sorry, Newt,” he began, but Newt shook his head.

 

“Don’t be, I am, I just threw all that at you and, and just freaked when you, but I know what you meant—” Newt wrapped his arms around Percival’ waist tightly. “I was so scared that you were gone.”

 

“I’m always here for you, Newt.”

 

“You’re my lighthouse,” Newt murmured. He didn’t care if he made sense. Percival huffed in amusement above him.

 

“And you’re my everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Theseus is a paranoid schizophrenic. There, now you know.  
> ALSO  
> I hope you liked it :) I wrote all this in less than two days and I had more ideas for it but honestly I wrote the last scene and it felt right to end it there.  
> Bonus points for who catches the IT Crowd reference.  
> Flynn is the Bichon frise who won Best in Show at this year's Westminster Dog Show. Look him up, he's a fluffy little fugger.  
> Please leave a comment with your thoughts :)))) if there is enough interest then I can totally be persuaded to add more cause I got ideas for daaaays.  
> Mmkay that's all I got.


End file.
